


Savior in the Flames

by VividDreamer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Aerys being cruel, Angst, F/F, F/M, Lyanna being feisty, Multi, Protectiveness, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VividDreamer/pseuds/VividDreamer
Summary: Rhaegar is forced to take a second wife, while at the Tourney of Harrenhal. After choosing his bride, tension rises. They rise in the North, in House Targaryen, and all of Westeros.





	1. Insanity Donning A Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my second story on Archive of our Own. I have another that I am currently posting, you can check it out if you want. It's called A Red Wolf Emerges. 
> 
> Now, I did change some events. You will notice while you are reading.
> 
> I really wanted to write a story with Lyanna, Elia, and Rhaegar. That didn't have to do with Rhaegar leaving either one of them.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 Rhaegar gently dotted his mother's cheekbone with powder. A cover-up designed for masking aging lines and bags under the eyes. Bruises. Bite marks. That's what his mother uses it for. To hide the evidence of my father's insanity and abuse.

His mother, Rhaella, the perfect example dutiful and kind-hearted. Beautiful, graceful, soft-spoken. Very well liked by the people of Westeros. Unlike, Aerys.

“I hate him,” Rhaegar whispering, tucking a piece of her silver hair behind her ear, “Tell me. Tell me right now and I will do it. I will kill him.”

Shaking her head frantically, she pulled his hand from her face.

“Don't ever say those things. Not when someone may be listening. Aerys will have you killed. He wouldn't hesitate. I can't lose my boy. My first child. Never speak of someone like this again. Do you understand?” Rhaella said softly, but fiercely. Close to tears.

“Yes, mother.”

“Your duty isn't to protect me, my son. But, I know how much you want to. Your duty is to protect Elia and your little girl, to be a kind husband and loving father, and to prepare yourself to be king. That's your duty. Rhaegar, it won't be long before you are sitting on the throne.”

Her son nodded before pecking his mother on the forehead. Screwing the lid back on the cylinder, he set it on her dressing table.

Ser Arthur entered the chamber, silently calling their attention to him.

“My prince. My queen. The king has requested your presence in the throne room.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 There he sat. Aerys II Targaryen, the Mad King. On the Iron Throne. Long, yellow untrimmed fingernails curled into the armrests of the mighty chair. His gaunt, wrinkled face framed by his unwashed, tangled hair and beard. The Mad King's hands covered in half-healed self inflicted cuts.

 Mother had told Rhaegar that his father hadn't always been cruel or paranoid. Once, she had shared, that Aerys had been generous, charming, resolute, but always quick to anger. That's the only part that never changed, he remembered her whispering to him at one night.

 That was the night Rhaegar discovered that his father was abusing his mother. Just a few moons shy of turning ten and one. He heard his mother's screams and cries, when he was ambling through the halls. The guards pushed him away when he tried to burst into her room. Held the struggling boy back as his cries began to match his mother's. When his father appeared in the doorway, with a battered, weeping woman behind him on the bed, he knew.

“Lord Walter Whent has announced a tourney,” Aerys waited impatiently for the court's whispers to die down, “It will be held at Harrenhal and he has invited our great house.”

_Willingly invited,_ Rhaegar thought with a low scoff.

 The Mad King waved his hand at the crowd, who were gossiping excitedly.

“Court is dismissed!” Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, declared loudly.

 Rhaegar made to get up from his chair beside the Iron Throne, stopped at his father's voice.

“Woman and boy, stay.” His father snarled.

 Rhaella eased herself back into her seat. Glancing at her son, who was throwing puzzled looks in her direction.

“How’s your Dornish bitch?,” He spat, relishing in the tiny flinch he saw from his wife, “Is she pregnant?”

 Rhaegar had been dreading when this conversation would take place. It’s been four years since Elia gave birth to his daughter, Rhaenys. The prince knew his father would only acknowledge a son from their marriage.

“No, father. Elia isn't-” Pregnant was what Rhaegar was going to finish with, but his father cut him off.

“That girl is weak! She needs to give you a son!” The insane man yelled.

“Father, give it some time. It will happen the way it is suppose to.”

“Time! You want time! Well, my son, you don't have it!” Spittle flying from his mouth and landing on the marble floor.

“Father, I und-”

“Find a wife!” Rhaegar stiffened in confusion, locking the beady eyes of his father.

“I have one.”

“No, at the tourney you _will_ take a second wife. One that can give you heirs.”

“Father, no. Elia is perfect, she can-” Was the soft reply from Rhaegar.

“You _will_ look for another wife at the tourney of Harrenhal. If by the end of that tourney, you aren't betrothed to another, I will make you put a babe in your _mother._ ” The sick threat lingering in tense atmosphere. Bile rose in Rhaegar's throat as he nodded his consent to the order.

 Aerys stood wobbly from his seat and descended the four stairs leading to the marble floor. Ser Lewyn Martell and Ser Gerold escorting him from the throne room.

 Rhaella flew over to her son and folded him into her arms. Rubbing small soothing circles on his back, just like she did that horrific night.

 The room was empty now, except for Ser Arthur and the mother and son. Silent, minus the rustling of Rhaegar's tunic.

“Arthur, could you escort my mother back to her chamber? You are one of the few people in this city that I can trust.” Placing a hand on his oldest friend’s armored shoulder.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 Elia ran her fingers through her daughter's dark hair. Picking up a brush, she began to brush Rhaenys’ wild mane.

“Would you like ribbons, sweet girl?” Elia asked her daughter.

“Yes, mother. Yellow ribbons, though.” Yellow. It was her favorite color. Much, to Aerys disliking. _Smells Dornish_ , she remembers him sneering, when their daughter was presented at court.

 Rhaegar burst into the chamber, clearly agitated. Stopping and relaxing his expression when he caught sight of his little girl.

“Father!” Rhaenys jumping into her father's arms, wrapping her tiny legs around his waist.

“My love, you look beautiful.” Kissing his daughter on the cheek as he tugged on her bright yellow ribbons.

 Elia rose to her feet and glided over to her husband. Subtly, petting her dragon’s back while their child was rambling.

“Rhaenys, go find Lusia, have her bring you to the playroom.” The small girl scurrying away, eager to play with Lusia, her caretaker.

 Elia pushed Rhaegar down on the bed, climbing behind him, and began to knead his shoulders.

“My dragon, you seem stressed,” She purred into his ear, nipping at it softly, “We should fix that.”

 Unbuttoning his black leather jerkin, she pulled the article off his body. Yanking his crimson tunic up and over his head. Rhaegar turned around and eased his wife back on the pillows.

 They made love. Sweetly and tenderly. Rhaegar bringing Elia to her release multiple times. She taught him well.

 The prince watched as his wife slept. Long, dark eyelashes fanned over her tanned cheekbones. Cuddled underneath his muscular arm. The contrast of their complexions apparent on the white sheets.

_I love her. Elia is beautiful, kind-hearted, and intelligent. I can't take another wife. No one will compare._


	2. Lyanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna-15 years old  
> Benjen-11 years old  
> Brandon-19 years old
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Just setting up for the chapters to come.

 Small flakes fell slowly from the clouds, dusting the land in a thin layer of snow. Lyanna kneeled at a weirwood tree, unwilling, in the center of the Godswood. Glancing up, she stared at the face carved within the sacred wood. 

_ Children of the Forest,  _ the Wolf-Maid thought,  _ Old Nan is a loon and her foolish stories are too. _

Her breath turned into a little cloud bubbling from her lips when she huffed it out. Rising from her knees, she dusted off her skirts. Lyanna walked back to her father, who was waiting patiently outside the Godswood.

“Was that so difficult?” Lord Stark asked, extending his elbow to his daughter.

“Yes, it was. Praying to the bloody Gods. What a waste of time.” Lyanna accepted the offered arm as she scoffed.

Rickard shook his head, droplets of melted snow flying into the air. 

“You shouldn't speak about the Gods like that, Lyanna.” He rebuked softly.

The courtyard of Winterfell was a flutter of activity, as it always was during the day. Folks hard at work, skinning animals, and hanging them on hooks outside the kitchens. Lyanna spotted Benjen, the youngest of the Stark children, practicing with his wooden sword.

Her and Benjen were always the closest. Causing non-stop headaches for their father with their mischief and misbehavior. Feeding the stable boys fibs in order to grab a horse and go riding, the sudden snowball fights they start in the middle of the courtyard, and slipping all sorts of nasty things in Brandon's ale when he was deep in his cups. 

“Benjen,” Her father called, gently pulling them to a halt, “Go wash up. Supper is soon.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

“Lord When has invited our family to a tourney at Harrenhal.” Rickard Stark announced to his children at the head of the table.

Lyanna bubbled in excitement. Not a lot thrilled the young girl. Getting the chance to witness jousts, mock battles between skilled lords and knights, and archery competitions filled her body with happiness. The usual activities that maidens and ladies participated in didn't please Lyanna. She couldn't embroider or stitch to save her life and listening to the songs and stories of handsome knights, beautiful noblewomen, and love was agonizingly boring to her. Lyanna liked the tale of Danny Flint, a young girl who disguised herself as a boy to join the Night’s Watch. “Brave Danny Flint” is what it was called. A pretty and thrilling song ending in violence and sadness. 

“A Stark must always be in Winterfell, so Lyanna you will have to stay here.” Her father stated next.

Lyanna deflated, a look of anger crossing her face.

“I want to go to the tournament. Why do I have to stay?” She practically yelled. Brandon cracked a smile at his sister's unrelenting fierceness. 

“A Stark must always be in Winterfell, you know this.” Was his response. That was  _ always _ his response.

“I want to go, father. Ned might be there and it's been so long since I've seen him. Can't someone else stay?” Lyanna’s voice grew soft when she spoke of Ned. It had been a couple years since Ned had last visited Winterfell and his family.

“She should go, father,” Brandon's amused smile now gone. A serious expression replacing his smirk that forever graced his face, “Lyanna should meet him and be with him before…”

Lyanna's brows knitted together in puzzlement.  _ Him, who?  _ Her eyes darted from her brother to her father, who avoided her gaze. Suddenly taking interest with the contents of his cup. 

“Him? Whom am I meeting? And before what?” She asked as she leaned forward.

“Lyanna, my daughter. You are to be wed, a couple days after your sixteenth nameday. I have accepted a betrothal for you.” Taking his daughter's hand gently into his and bringing it to his thin lips.

“Wed?” Lyanna snatched her hand from his. 

“To Robert Baratheon.” Brandon whispered. To the point that Lyanna could barely make out what he said. But she did hear and so did Benjen.

The surprise evident on her younger brother's face and the disgust apparent on hers. Lyanna began shaking her head frantically as she fisted her skirts. 

This wasn't the plan. For as long as she could remember she never wanted to be some lord’s wife. She didn't want to be forced to give heirs, while her husband was out fighting and fucking. Holed up in some dark and lonely castle.

“No. I'm not marrying Robert Baratheon. I'm not going to, father.” Tears sprang into her grey orbs. Benjen sat back in his chair, tears in his eyes as well. 

“Lyanna, I've already accepted Robert’s offer.” Rickard told her softly.

“Please, father. That man already has a bastard in the Vale. I would have a miserable life with him.” The droplets finally spilling over and drifting down her long face.

Benjen shifted forward in his chair and picked up Lyanna's hand, where it was in her lap.

“Brandon's right. You will go to the tourney and meet Robert. I’ll stay here,” His words firm and tone hard. Cutting off anymore attempts to protest, “After the tourney, you will travel to Storm’s End with Robert and await your wedding.”

Her chair scratched against the wood of the floor as she forcefully pushed it back. Fleeing the room quickly, she headed to her bedchamber. The saltiness from her tears dried on her lips. Lyanna plopped down on her featherbed and scooted back towards the headboard. Not bothering to take her boots and dress off, she covered herself in furs. 

_ Unfair. Forced into a betrothal and soon marriage with a wandering oaf. Not being able to resist or refuse it. Just because I don't have a cock between my legs. _

 

* * *

* * *

 

  
  


“This is of the utmost importance, Brandon. I won't be there, so you will have to know for yourself. Show it when the time is right and when you trust who is there.” Rickard said to his first son. 

“I understand, father. I'll be careful. It's about time his monstrous reign came to an end.” Brandon replied, fiddling with the scroll of paper in his grasp.

“Mmmm,” His father hummed, “The party departs in two days, so get some rest and pack your things. Make sure Lyanna has everything prepared as well, please.”

Brandon nodded and rose from his chair. Outside of his father's chamber was Benjen, who slumped sullenly against a stone wall. His sharp features pulled into a frown and blue eyes puffy, no doubt from crying.

“Why does Lya have to get married?” His small voice asked.

“Everyone has duties that they need to fulfill,” Brandon squatted down to his brother's height and tipped his chin up, “It is a highborn woman's duty to marry and bring little lords and ladies into this world. Sometimes little princes and princesses. It is also sometimes their duty to rule a castle or country. This is her duty.”

“But, Lya and I were going to join the Night’s Watch. It's their duty to protect and guard the Wall. Why can't she do that instead?” Benjen pushed himself to stand upright. 

“Were you? Well, the Night’s Watch isn't a place for ladies,” He began to pull his little brother along, heading towards his room, “Besides it will be awhile before all that happens. Now, off to bed. You need rest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be a little slow in posting new chapters. Sorry. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!  
> Questions, comments, etc.

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions, just ask in the comments. Anything I should fix or improve, constructive criticism is welcome.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
